“The City and Its Uncertain Walls” by Haruki Murakami is a richly imagined and thought-provoking narrative that explores the themes of isolation, identity, and the complexities of urban life. This is a take-off from another of his novels, “Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World”. If you drill deeper into the history of this novel, you will find a short story or novella that Murakami wrote early in his career that he was unsatisfied with. I think he may have achieved perfection with this latest iteration.
In this book, Murakami masterfully constructs a labyrinthine cityscape that serves as a mirror to the inner worlds of its inhabitants. The protagonist, whose name remains undisclosed, journeys through this enigmatic urban sprawl, encountering a myriad of characters who each add a layer of complexity to the narrative. Their stories intertwine, creating a tapestry of human experience that is as fragmented as it is compelling.
The protagonist’s quest for meaning and connection is punctuated by encounters with figures such as a reclusive artist, a disillusioned academic, and a mysterious woman who seems to hold the key to the city’s secrets. Each of these individuals grapples with their own existential dilemmas, reflecting the broader themes of isolation and identity that pervade the novel.
Murakami’s prose is both lyrical and haunting, imbuing the city with a sense of melancholy beauty. The walls that encircle the city are not just physical barriers, but also metaphors for the psychological and emotional confines that the characters must confront. The walls seem to be alive and have a life of their own as they change slightly from day to day and represent for me a sense of consciousness. They are interior walls as well.
The novel is essentially a ghost story. We don’t realize this until we are well into the narrative. Murakami is a master of magical realism, and he refers to the magical realism of Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his telling of the tale.
Through the struggles of the various characters, the narrative probes into what it means to seek freedom and understanding in a world that is perpetually uncertain.
Some authors’ voices are missed when absent for a while. Murakami is one such author. I return to him again and again.
Timequake is a novel about free will. Vonnegut freely intersperses throughout the novel his own stream of consciousness. Oh, and there is also his alter ego, Kilgore Trout, who exclaims, “Oh Lordy, I am much too old experienced to start playing Russian Roulette with free will again.”
The premise of Timequake is that a Timequake, a sudden glitch in the time-space continuum, made everybody and everything do exactly what they’d done during the past decade a second time. It was déjà vu all over again for 10 years. The timeframe Vonnegut chose was February 13, 2001 – February 17, 1991. The Timequake would zapp everyone back in an instant to 1991. They had to “live” their way forward to 2001. Or you might say, back to the future again. Only when people got back to 2001 did they stop being robots of their past. Kilgore Trout would say, “Only when free will kicked in could they stop running an obstacle course of their own construction.” Free will. That is what the novel is about. Do we have it or not? That is the question. You would think that because the author mentions “when free will kicks back in” some 20-odd times he was arguing for free will. But no! Not so fast! I’m not so sure.
Other pithy comments by Kilgore Trout would include, “If brains were dynamite, there wouldn’t be enough to blow your hat off!” and “Ting-a-ling, you son of a bitch!” which is the punch line to a variation on a joke having to do with Chinese doorbells.
So, it goes.
Vonnegut goes on to say, in his own peculiar voice, that writers of his generation had reason to be optimistic because of things like the Magna Carter, the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, The Emancipation Proclamation, and Article XIX of the Constitution giving women the right to vote. He advocated for two more amendments that he would like to add: Article XXIII: Every newborn shall be sincerely welcomed and cared for until maturity. And Article XXIX: Every adult who needs it shall be given meaningful work to do at a living wage.
Another pithy saying he was fond of throwing around was, “I never asked to be born in the first place!”
Reading Philip Roth is like eating Indian food. You have to have a taste for it, and I confess I have a passion for both. I just finished reading Deception and found it to be by turns clever and brilliant. I think the reason I like Roth so much is that sometimes I think he is writing my story. He cleverly entangles his real life with his fictional life. He mixes Nathan Zuckerman and Philip Roth in a froth of delightful storytelling.
Deception is told in all dialogue, which is not an easy feat in itself. The reader must pay close attention to who is speaking. It details his adulterous affair with a British woman while he is temporarily living in England. He is concerned that his wife might find out and take pains to keep their liaison a secret. The British woman is also married. He intertwines this story with encounters with other women including his wife who discovers his notebook and accuses him of having an affair which he denies, and therein ensues a hilarious argument about how the affair is in his imagination and the notes are for a book that he is writing. One may ask, who is he deceiving, his wife or the rest of us? The scene reminded me of a similar incident that happened to me a while back. I also keep a notebook and one day my partner at the time happened to pick it up and read it while I was out. We had the biggest fight of our relationship over what she read in that notebook! It was over soon after that.
The novel Deception is Philip Roth at his best. Highly recommend!
It took me quite a while to get around to reading Herzog. It has been sitting around in my personal library since 1985 when I purchased it in a used bookshop in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Since then, I and my books have moved around several times, but we have now finally come to rest in Louisville, Kentucky. Maybe we will be here a little bit longer. The book was published in 1964 and was awarded the National Book Award for Fiction. Bellow, himself, won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1976.
I have been reading Bellow since the 1970s and for a long time considered him to be my favorite author. Until Philp Roth came along and then I was in this author’s thrall for many years and stopped reading Saul. Much to my detriment, I may add, but now I happily return to Saul Bellow in this wonderful book, Herzog.
Herzog is a classic novel that explores the existential crisis of a middle-aged man who is dissatisfied with his life. The protagonist, Moses Herzog, a middle-aged intellectual living in Chicago is a writer and a thinker, grappling with personal and philosophical questions and writes letters to various people, both living and dead, as a way of coping with his failures and frustrations. The novel is a rich and complex portrait of a man who is searching for meaning and identity in a chaotic and absurd world. It is also very funny.
As I read this story, I couldn’t help but relate to the main character, Moses Herzog. His story deeply resonated with me, and I felt it was a bit synchronous with my own life. For example, Moses had lived in a small town in Massachusetts near Pittsfield. I lived in a small town near Pittsfield. Moses has an affair with a woman in New York while living and teaching in Philadelphia. I lived in Philadelphia and was having an affair with a woman from New York. Like Moses, I would travel back and forth between the two cities. Moses at one time had an Asian girlfriend. I was married to a Korean woman for 14 years. Moses was going through a second divorce as he tried to sort out his life and survive a midlife crisis. Been there, done that. And finally, at lot of the action takes place in Chicago, a city I love and adore.
One of the central themes of Herzog is identity. Moses Herzog is a character deeply rooted in his own sense of self, and the novel examines how he grapples with this identity in the midst of personal and societal turmoil. Herzog’s journey is marked by his attempts to make sense of his failed marriages, his complex relationships, and his role as a father. His introspection on his own identity is similar to the search for meaning that many other individuals undertake in their lives.
Spirituality is another significant theme in Herzog. The novel raises questions about the nature of faith and belief. Herzog’s exploration of spirituality is a deeply personal one, as he grapples with the concepts of God and meaning. He is a secular man, yet he contemplates the existence of a higher power and the role of religion in human life. This internal spiritual journey is one that many people undertake in their search for purpose and transcendence.
Saul Bellow’s prose is rich and thought-provoking. He skillfully weaves together Herzog’s reflections with vivid descriptions of the world around him. Bellow’s writing captures the essence of the mid-20th century and provides a snapshot of American society at the time, with its cultural and intellectual upheavals.
The character of Moses Herzog himself is a complex and deeply human protagonist. He is flawed, struggling, and as I said earlier deeply relatable. His journey of self-discovery and reflection makes Herzog a timeless tale that continues to resonate with readers today. It did with me.
The Zone of Interest, by Martin Amis, is a provocative and disturbing examination of one of the darkest periods in human history. I ran across this book while reading another Martin Amis book, Inside Story. Inside Inside Story, Amis discusses how he came to write and publish TheZone Of Interest. What caught my interest was the critical reaction to the book. It seems you can’t interject humor into an account of the horrors of the Holocaust. Imagine that. Well, I needed to see what the fuss was all about, so I set about to find said tome which wasn’t easy as it was out of print. Amazon didn’t have it. Half Price Books didn’t have it, and Barnes and Noble didn’t have it. I was left with having to scour the used bookstores of the nation. Finally, in a little bookshop in Chicago, I found it and sent in my order straight away. In a few days, it arrived on my doorstep in pristine condition. Needless to say, by the time it got there my interest level was elevated.
Amis tells the story of the Holocaust from the perspectives of each of the three main characters living in and operating a death camp at Auschwitz. This camp is the “Zone of Interest” from the title of the novel. Using this narrative technique Amis gives us a clear view of the atrocities occurring daily in the concentration camp. The story unfolds primarily through the viewpoints of Angelus Thomsen, a high-ranking Nazi officer; Paul Doll, the camp commandant; and Szmul, a Jewish inmate forced to work in the camp’s Sonderkommando. There is a love story attached that involves Thomsen and the commandant’s wife, Hannah Doll. It is unrequited but carries much of the weight of the novel. This story serves to illustrate the blurring of the lines between victim and perpetrator.
Jewish “evacuees” are brought by train to be used as forced labor or to be gassed, their remains incinerated and then buried in the disgusting-smelling Spring Meadow by the “sonderkommado.” Szmul is a sonder. He is Jewish and is allowed to live as long as he performs his service, but he knows his time is limited too. He describes himself and his crew as the saddest, most disgusting men in the camp. They work with the dead, with heavy scissors, pliers, and mallets. There are three reasons for them to go on living: first to bear witness, second to extract mortal revenge if possible, and third to save a life from time to time to time, mostly young Jewish males.
Amis’ writing style is both terrifying and moving as he describes the brutality and horror of the camp. There are moments of dark humor and absurdity which I found to be quite appropriate. The juxtaposition of horror and humor produces a shroud of surrealism that makes one think about the moral and ethical implications elicited from the Holocaust. Amis incorporates many German words and phrases into the narrative giving one a sense of verisimilitude. I am reminded of Anthony Burgess’ Clockwork Orange where he created an entirely new language composed of both English and Russian and combinations of the two.
Zone of Interest is an examination of what Hannah Arendt described in her book Eichman inJerusalem as the “banality of evil.” Amis portrays characters going about their daily tasks in the camp as if they were managing any other administrative task. This chilling portrayal underscores the idea that ordinary people can become complicit in unimaginable atrocities under the right circumstances.
Zone of Interest is a challenging and haunting novel that offers a unique perspective on the Holocaust. Through its complex characters, dark humor, and unflinching portrayal of life in Auschwitz, the book forces readers to confront the darkest aspects of human nature and the enduring questions of morality and complicity. This powerful book has stayed with me long after I read it and is, I think an important contribution to the literature of the Holocaust.
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is the fourth Murakami novel that I have read. The others are Kafka on theShore, Norwegian Wood, and Hardboiled-Wonderland and the End of the World. I would be loath to say which one I liked the best. Probably Norwegian Wood is the greatest departure from the other three, but they all stand on their own and are all equally excellent in my view.
I love the way Murakami blends magical realism and naturalism into his novels and the way he sprinkles his writing with cultural references (mostly Western).
Wind-Up Bird is the chronicle of a man who first loses his cat and then loses his wife. It is partly a detective story as the main character searches for his cat and his missing wife. Along the way, we meet some fascinating characters and find ourselves at the bottom of a deep dark well contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
Some of the themes Murakami explores are Identity and journey to the self, polar opposites, the forgotten war, parallel universes, past and present; marriage and love, alienation, aloneness, and isolation; loyalty and trust, subconscious, and reality, and finally the power of fate.
This is a big long book and perhaps a little rambling, and at times incoherent, but it is pure Murakami and if you have a taste for his writing it is a joy to read.
The Old Absinthe House, one of the venues depicted in the novel. Photo by the author.
Take a deep dive with me to the bottom of The Gulf of Mexico as we explore along with Bobby Western the depths of the human consciousness.
Cormac McCarthy’s, The Passenger starts off with a mystery as Bobby Western, a deep sea salvage diver, explores a downed plane in the Gulf of Mexico off the Mississippi coastline. He and his friend Oiler find the plane submerged under 40 feet of water and all of the passengers onboard are dead and one is missing. Also missing is the black box. This missing passenger is the passenger from the title of the novel but we soon find that that is not what the book is about at all. Bobby is the actual passenger, as are we the readers, following along on Bobby’s journey into darkness.
We follow Bobby into the seedy bars on Bourbon Street in the City of New Orleans and meet a cadre of colorful characters from blue collar workers in the salvage business to street philosophers, transsexuals, race car drivers, mathematicians, physicists, and a Jewish private detective.
This is a novel of intrigue, paranoia, loss, grief and despair. It is also very funny with many moments of dark humor sprinkled throughout.
Bobby Western’s father worked with Oppenheimer on the atomic bomb for which he experiences generational guilt. His sister, Alicia, is a math wizard who is haunted by a crew of imaginary characters emanating from her schizophrenic mind. She is also a great beauty and Bobby is deeply in love with her.
The whole novel has a dreamlike quality to it but never fails to compel the reader to keep turning the pages to see what happens next.
This is perhaps McCarthys swan song and it echos much of his previous work. It is a tribute to a life well lived and a career well made. McCarthy has been compared to Melville, but I see traces of Beckett, and as another reviewer has pointed out, Kafka.
Much has been made of his signature style of no punctuation and a lack of tags for the dialogue. Sometimes one has to go back and reread a section to understand who it is talking. I found that to be true in this novel. But, I think the ambiguity is intentional on McCarthy’s part as it adds to the dreamlike quality of the work. Has written a prequel to this novel which acts as kind of a “coda” to The Passenger. I haven’t read Stella Maris as yet but when I do I expect it to give me a greater understanding of this one.
This book covers the waterfront on a variety of topics. Topics I am sure are McCarthys interests. He weaves them into the story in a very realistic, convincing and entertaining way. Here is a compendium of what his characters talk about or are involved in: Vietnam, the Kennedy assassination, a trans-woman, incest, food and wine, schizophrenia, philosophy, particle physics, mathematics, and paranoia.
McCarthy has a prose style that is incomparable to other modern day writers. His descriptions are sublime and memorable. Such as: “ The lamps had come on down Bourbon Street. It had rained earlier and the moon lay in the wet street like a platinum manhole cover.” Or: “…the tide pools stood like spills of blood.” Or: “ …sunrise. It sat swagged and red in the smoke like a matrix of molten iron swung wobbling up out of a furnace.”
All in all a fine read of a much anticipated novel that more than delivers on expectations.
I am doing a deep dive into Samuel Beckett, and I feel that I must come up for air. I can’t go on, but I must go on.
I just finished reading The Unnamable, the third novel in the trilogy after Molloy, and Malone Dies. There have been about 20 years intervening between each reading and I have read a lot of other books since including other works by Beckett.
The Unnamable is the story of the self that strives for silence but is obliged to go on. It is about three things: The inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude. It is full of internal contradictions, doubt, and paradoxes.
I keep coming back to Beckett because something about his work resonates. Not only that but I came across an interesting tome by Paul Foster that analyzes Beckett’s work in terms of the “dilemma” presented in his work through the lens of Zen Buddhism. Wow! That is what I said. So, I read The Unnamable in preparation for Beckett and Zen, by Paul Foster.
One of the dilemmas alluded to in Beckett and Zen is the doctrine of grace: grace given, and grace withheld. St. Augustine tells the story of the two thieves that are crucified with Christ, one is saved, and the other is damned. How can we make sense of this division Beckett wants to know? There is a scene in Waiting for Godot where this theme is played out by the characters Vladimir and Estragon.
Then there is the dilemma of human reason confronted by an outrageous relentless irrationality, a universe giving birth to the spectacle of life, of which the main feature is suffering and death.
There is the problem of time which leads to decay and into the abyss. Personal identity and isolation and need I say, alienation?
Distress is at the heart of Beckett’s work which arises from a mental and spiritual confusion resulting from the recognition of the dilemma of existence.
The problem of God. Does God exist? If He does is He an all-loving God or a monster? And what about the Silence of God? Why don’t we hear from Him?
Beckett refers to a fundamental sound resounding in the universe that can only be described as a howl of pain.
That is enough for now. I think I have caught my breath and can now emerge from this rabbit hole that I seem to have fallen into and get about my day.
Spoiler alert! Plot point giveaways straight ahead!
She was discontent. She was married to a country doctor and lived in a small town in France not far from Rouen. Her husband would do anything for her and loved her dearly but he was just a country bumpkin and he bored her. Emma Bovary had two love affairs that did not end well and she ran her household into debt trying to buy gifts for her lovers and trying to keep up appearances. Then, when everything was about to come crashing down on her head and the creditors were at the door ready to repossess all her belongings, she ate a handful of poison and died a painful death. Her heartbroken husband followed soon thereafter and her little daughter wound up working in a cotton factory. A story that one might say had tragic dimensions.
Now, this all might seem rather straightforward, hackneyed, and mundane, but it is not so. One, it is a prototype for many stories just like it that were to be repeated again and again into the future. But, two, it is the writing style Flaubert engages in that holds our attention and keeps us turning the pages. The book has been called a masterpiece and for good reason.
I came upon this novel the same way I come upon so many things in life, by way of another novel: MyLife as a Man, by Philip Roth. In it, Roth refers to Flaubert again and again, quoting him liberally. For example, in a letter to his mistress, Colet, in 1853, which Roth cites as an example to his writing students, Flaubert writes the following: “What seemed to me to be the highest and most difficult achievement of art is not to make us laugh or cry, but to do as nature does – that is, fill us with wonder.” And that is exactly what Flaubert has achieved in this magnificent work, he has filled us with wonder. I was hooked and vowed to read Madame Bovary as my very next novel.
In his description of country life in the small town of Yonville, Flaubert has created some unforgettable characters and has given us a taste of what it must have been like to live among them at that time and place. We have presented to us two funerals and a wedding, and a country fair. They spring to life for us before our very eyes.
We meet such characters as, Homais, the town pharmacist who was a know-it-all and loved to hear himself talk. Leon, a young law clerk who falls in love with Emma. Rodolphe, is a wealthy landowner, and a ladies’ man. Lheureux, is a local merchant, and a moneylender. Binet, the tax collector who retreats to his attic and spins out countless wooden napkin holders on his wood lathe. Abbe Bournisien, the town priest. And an assorted number of other colorful characters.
It is alleged that Flaubert once said, “I am Emma Bovary.” I haven’t been able to substantiate that claim anywhere, but I wouldn’t doubt that he identified with his heroine. Quite frankly, I identified with her as well. She must appeal to the anima that resides in my soul. But more than that she is a romantic figure much influenced by her reading of romantic novels and being in love with love. At one point she muses, “Love, she believed, must come suddenly, with great thunderclaps and bolts of lightning, – a hurricane from heaven that drops down on your life, overturns it tears away your will like a leaf, and carries your whole heart off with it into the abyss.”
Emma also rails against the French Bourgeois society of 19 th century France, which Flaubert also hated. She is trapped in a society where women have no agency and only a limited amount of freedom. Her only power comes from her sexuality.
Flaubert also explores the theme of fate (chance) vs free will illustrated by the following passages:
“You and I, for instance, why did we meet? What chance decreed it? It must be that, like two rivers flowing across the intervening distance and converging, our own particular inclinations impelled us toward one another.” Rodolphe to Emma
“One can’t fight against providence; one can’t resist the smiles of an angel!”
“Our destinies are bound together now, aren’t they?”
“Fate is to blame, only fate!”
And boredom. Anna was bored: “…boredom, that silent spider, was spinning its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.”
A note about the translation. There is nothing more important to me in the enjoyment of a book written in a language other than my own than a good translation. The version I read was translated by Lydia Davis and it is excellent.
This is what Flaubert had to say about the importance of a good translation: “A good sentence should be like a good line in poetry, unchangeable, as rhythmic, as sonorous.” And Davis has achieved this as the novel reads like poetry and it goes down like drinking a glass of cool refreshing water.
The Death of Free Speech and the Cost of a Free Lunch
Photo of book by the author
David Mamet is a good writer. That is not to say that he is a brilliant writer. I think not. Although, his plays might be considered so. Who can doubt the brilliance of Glengarry Glen Ross or The Verdict or Wag the Dog. However, these little essays of three or four pages each fall flat. And they are loaded with misinformation, lies, and incorrect conclusions. He sometimes gets his facts right but draws the wrong conclusions. I could disagree with him more on some of these points but I don’t see how. Mr. Mamet seems to have lost his way if not his mind.
There are a few things in the book that do I agree with, and one or two things that I actually identify with. But for the most part it is poppycock.
Here is what I like and agree with:
He says, and I quote: “…works that I have found helpful writing drama: Aristotle’s Poetics. Campbell’s, Hero with a Thousand Faces.”
I have both of these books in my library and have always wanted to read them. I will now be putting them on my TBR list.
“Each characterization of the hero…that does not jibe with our self image takes us out of the story. An invaluable understanding for the story teller.”
And an invaluable lesson for the writer as well.
“The script exists to describe to the cameraman what to shoot and to tell the actors what to say. Everything else is besides the point…The nature of a script is a recipe.”
Very sensible.
“We human beings are a bad lot. Unchecked, we divide into predators and food.”
“Great paintings and music can inspire, suggest, soothe, thrill, but they cannot teach, Neither can literature. The arts exit, as does religion, to touch those portions of the human soul beyond the corruption of consciousness.”
OK, you had me all the way up to that last sentence. What exactly is the “corruption of consciousness?” “Most plays are no damned good. The only way to write a play is to write a lot of plays…To write a good play requires talent. There is not a lot of it around.”
“…The journey of the writer and that of the hero are one and the same. Both are forced to make difficult choices.”
“I was raised in the horror of the Chicago public schools…I didn’t learn a goddamn thing. It might have helped my grades if not my education if I ever opened a school book, but I was bored to catatonia…but outside of school hours, I read voraciously and was certainly better read than the teachers.” Now, this I can relate to. I had the same experience going to public schools. But I went to 14 schools in 12 years. My father was a Navy man and I transferred schools quite frequently as we moved around the country whenever my dad got new orders. I did however manage to get a pretty good education, even thought I was bored out of my mind much of the time.
“Samuel Beckett was the greatest dramatist since Shakespeare.”
No argument here. I would add perhaps Tennessee Williams and Edward Albee.
“What is art for? It has no use. No more than a sunset…Art has no purpose, but it has a use (direct contradiction, but I know what he means). The oyster cannot use the pearl (cue Steinbeck). Observers may admire its beauty, but that does not allow them to understand the pearl, beauty, or the oyster.”
Now, for what I don’t like:
“Now we are engaged in a great civil war. The offer of Freedom (American constitutional democracy) is at issue, and the tyranny of the left displays the carrot and the stick to a legitimately disturbed populace.” I think the tyranny is on the right and not on the left. And there is ample evidence to support this contention. But I won’t use up valuable space here to refute it. Suffice it to say, I beg to differ. Domestic terror attacks emanate from the right far more than they do from the left.
There is another place in the book at the beginning where Mr. Mamet makes the argument that the left tried to steal the election. This is patently untrue and is rather the other way around. Has he forgotten about the January 6th insurrection when the members of the right-wing stormed the capitol in a failed to overthrow the government? Bill Maher called him out on this on his show and Mamet just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Skip that page.” Unfortunately, he makes similar statements and arguments throughout the book. We should perhaps skip the entire book.
Ghost Dog 